


Wrong Kind of Lovin'

by Aspens_corner



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Destiel - Freeform, Multi, Post 15x19 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:34:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27736969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aspens_corner/pseuds/Aspens_corner
Summary: Sometimes, when he thought you were sleeping, you would catch Dean sitting up in bed staring at a crumpled photograph of Castiel. He’d told you all about the angel, and it was obvious just from the way his tone shifted when talking about him that there was something there.(AU wherein the series ended after 15X19)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/Reader
Kudos: 13





	Wrong Kind of Lovin'

**Author's Note:**

> If you had told me a month ago that I'd be writing a Destiel fanfic on Thanksgiving, I'd have called you bonkers.  
> \- I'm new to the fandom, so if I got anything wrong, let me know. As always, feedback is craved and appreciated. -

You were nothing more than a placeholder. It didn’t take long for you to figure that out. Sometimes, when he thought you were sleeping, you would catch Dean sitting up in bed staring at a crumpled photograph of Castiel. He’d told you all about the angel, and it was obvious just from the way his tone shifted when talking about him that there was something there. You didn’t know what exactly it was; but you knew his death had affected Dean on a deep level.

And you knew you were just serving as the filler for the void he had left.

Sam had Eileen, and they seemed absolutely drunk on each other. They were in it deep, it was obvious. And you wished so deeply that you and Dean could have that same kind of connection, but it was difficult to break through his already tough persona when he mentally… wasn’t actually there with you.

Sex was bland. He wasn’t into it; often overexaggerating reactions to make you feel like he wanted to be there. You weren’t stupid, though, and you knew internally that this isn’t what he wanted. He was yearning, mourning, desparate for the angel. It broke your heart.

Everything fell apart on a Wednesday. You sat at the kitchen table, eating the breakfast Dean had made for everyone. The weather outside was dreary and damp, meaning it would be an indoors kind of day. You’d probably lose yourself in some lore book in the library, while Sam and Eileen watched movies cuddled up on the couch. Dean would lock himself in the room, as he had taken to doing more often than not.

You wished he’d talk to you. Dean Winchester wasn’t one to pour his feelings out, you knew, but you felt it was only fair that he gave you the truth. You wanted him to be forthcoming, to tell you that he was hurting, that this isn’t what he wanted.

That he didn’t want you.

At least if he were honest, it would spare you some of the agony of watching him fall into a rapid decline.

There was a commotion in the living room, and you heard Sam shouting something and Eileen letting out a shriek. Dean exchanged a look with you before you were both on your feet, jogging to the source of the disruption.

There, in the middle of the living room surrounded by a mess of feathers, was Castiel. You glanced at Dean, who was standing a few feet away. His jaw was clenched, and his hands were balled up in tight fists by his side. You could have sworn his eyes were glossy, but if you were to ask him about it present day he’d deny it firmly. 

Castiel got to his feet, brushing off his trench coat. You supposed it only made sense that he was alive; Jack had set everything right, hadn’t he? That did mean everything. You wondered briefly why it had taken so long for him to show back up, but then your mind drifted to Dean explaining what their final exchange had been, and it suddenly all clicked.

The angel was nervous. Shy. Scared of what Dean was feeling about all of it. You shook your head internally, if only he knew.

“Cas, what the hell?” Sam broke the silence that had overtaken the room.

Castiel offered him an apologetic smile. “I would have surfaced earlier but I was attending to some… heavenly business.”

Dean cleared his throat beside you, and you stiffened. Here it comes.

“You were dead. You were dead, and you came back, and you waited six months to tell us that? What kind of fuckery – “

“Dean.” Cas spoke softly, as though he had just realized the hunter was in the room. “I - … It’s good to see you.”

Dean scoffed incredulously. “Yeah, better late than never I guess.”

You smiled at Cas gently, and grabbed Dean’s arm. “Excuse us for… just a moment.” And with that, you were dragging Dean back to the kitchen.

“What’re you doing? What’s wrong?”

“Dean, we’ve gotta talk. And we’ve gotta talk now. I’m not clueless, you know. I’ve seen the picture. I’ve noticed the way you act when I try to be romantic with you. It was never me. It was always him.” You laughed breathily, your voice cracking on the last sentence. “And that’s fine. I wish you would have told me, but it’s fine. I’m not mad. I want you to be happy, because I love you. And if that happiness isn’t with me, then so be it, but you need to tell him. You need to tell him you feel the same way about him that he does about you. Don’t miss up on a chance for happiness.”

Dean stared for a long moment before inhaling shakily. “(Y/N), I…. “ He swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry.”

You shook your head. “No, you have no reason to be sorry. But you will if you don’t walk into that goddamn living room and fix this.”

He pulled you into a hug, squeezing tightly before pulling away with a sad smile. “But what about you?”

You scoffed. “Dean, this isn’t about me. You and I both know this was never about me. Go, be happy. I’ll be just fine, don’t you worry.”

And you stood there and watched as the man you loved walked out of the kitchen, and towards a future he’d been dreaming of.

A future that didn’t include you.


End file.
